


Suitable Substitution

by SushiOwl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A lot of them - Freeform, Consentacles, IDK tell me if I missed anything, Inspired by Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, M/M, Married Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Nipple Play, Other, Overstimulation, Restraints, Tentacles, anal penetration, blink-and-you'll-miss-it sounding, but only kind of, consensual tentacle sex, hedge witch!Stiles, high warlock!Peter, idk how to tag this but here goes, it's porn my guys, semi-sentient Mimic bred for sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: Beloved,I do hope this satisfies your carnal needs in my absence.Unendingly yours,Peter





	Suitable Substitution

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not dead, promise!
> 
> I'm doing original writing lately. ♥

“But you said the conference was only for the weekend,” Stiles complained at the compact mirror in his hand. Instead of his reflection, Peter's face shown back at him.

Peter let out a sigh. “I am aware of what I said, pet, but it cannot be helped. You know how these meetings can drag on, especially since a judge happened to lose his head.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Stiles smiled. “Yeah, well, Judge Harris loved to put his dick in everything. He was bound to accidentally try to do so with a witch hunter.” Served the shit right, to be honest. Whomever he didn’t try to molest, he berated. Politicians.

“I do hope the clergies can settle who will take his seat reasonably. If I am asked to oversee any duels, I will start setting people alight.” Peter put his nose in the air.

Laughing, Stiles leaned back in his cushy recliner. “I miss you,” he told him.

“And I you, love.”

He rolled his head back and forth, humming. “Whatever shall I do without you here to keep me company?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage on your own,” Peter told him with a chuckle.

“Will I?” Stiles countered, flashing a grin at him.

Peter’s eyes slitted suspiciously, before he looked over when something Stiles couldn’t see grabbed his attention. “I’ll be there shortly,” he told Whoever it was, his voice clipped. When he looked back, there was a glint in his eye.

Stiles immediately knew he'd sparked something inside of his husband. “I’ll see you when you get home, my love,” he said sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

“Try to keep out of trouble.”

“No promises.” He blew a kiss and closed the compact mirror to cut off the connection. With a sigh, he looked over at his work table. He had a chicken to pluck, grasshopper eyes to release from their sockets, and ladybug wings to remove. He sagged in his chair. “Boo.”

\---

Upon returning from his bog walk, Stiles had a soggy basket of squirming things and deadly plants dangling from his elbow. He was already organizing his reagent cabinet in his head when he spotted something on his porch. It was a wooden crate. He approached and found there was a small black envelope with his name written in silver ink. He recognized his husband’s grandiose script instantly. 

He resisted the urge to open the envelope right that moment. Instead he opened the door and walked in, making a motion to have the crate float inside behind him. He made short work popping wigglers and plants in bottles and went to wash up and change into something more comfortable than old overalls and water shoes.

He picked up the letter, running his thumb over his name on the front and feeling a slight tingle of what his husband had been feeling when he set pen to paper. Determination. Just a little mischief too. Curious.

 

_ Beloved, _

_ I do hope this satisfies your carnal needs in my absence.  _

_ Unendingly yours, _

_ Peter _

 

Eyebrow creeping up, Stiles looked at the crate. What in the world could Peter have sent him? Without hesitating, he threw open the top of the crate and jerked back when all four sides came down as well. Inside the crate was… another crate. Stiles’s eyelid gave a twitch.

Once upon a time, Peter had hidden his engagement ring inside a series of hundred boxes, going from very large to very small. Stiles had nearly declined the proposal out of sheer annoyance.

Stiles grabbed the lid of the inner crate and began to lift it, but something about it was… difficult. There was a force that refused to let it be thrown open, a kind of sucking pressure that only let it be opened about an inch. “The hell is--”

Through the small opening, thin purple-black tendrils slipped out and caressed his wrists, leaving slippery trails as they slithered against his skin. They moved eagerly, like they were as interested in him as he was in the crate.

“Well, hello there,” he said, kneeling down to look into the crack of the crate. Two purple pinpoint eyes peered back at him. He slipped his hands down to brace on the front of the crate so the being could lift its lid a little higher. “I’ve never seen a Lusty Mimic in person before.”

A long tongue flicked out and dragged across his cheek and down his neck in one swift motion before disappearing back inside. The little tendrils snaked out to touch his fingertips.

“Aw, aren’t you sweet? You wanna play?” The Mimic made a creaking noise, lid bobbing up and down, and Stiles took that as an affirmative. The Mimic was bred for it, bewitched to be enthusiastic. Instead of feeding on people like usual Mimics, it was tuned to feed off gratification and bodily fluids.

Stiles would have to send a raven to Peter, thanking him… After.

Standing up, Stiles smiled as the little tentacles tried to grasp him and keep him in place. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, stepping back and tugging his shirt over his head. “I’m going to get something to lean on.” He looked around. The table would do. He’d just have to clean it off. 

He started toward it but didn’t get too far before he heard thumps behind him. He turned and saw the Mimic lumbering toward him, balanced on thick, veiny tentacles spilling from inside of it. He wobbled loudly over then dropped back onto the floor, large limbs disappearing but for one, which wrapped loosely around his ankle.

“You poor thing,” Stiles said, running a hand over its lid, back and forth. “Has no one ever played with you? Have you been lonely?”

The Mimic creaked lightly, the slick tentacle on his ankle sliding up his calf under his lounge pants. It tickled the back of his knee, and he chuckled, petting the Mimic’s lid still.

“Alright, alright. I won’t make you wait then.” He tugged his pants and boxers down his legs, stepping out of one side with his free leg.

The Mimic helpfully latched onto the pants, slid them off, and then whipped them across the room, much to Stiles’s amusement. Another eager tentacle slipped out of the crate to join the first. They both wound slimy trails up his legs, warm and drippy.

The fluid the tentacles were excreting almost tingled over the jut of his hips and across his stomach. Slithering up, the tip of one tentacle teased at his nipple, pushing it this way and that. His nipple hardened, and he shivered, watching the tentacle work. Then the tentacle pulled back and split at the tip, revealing a small, sucking mouth that latched onto his nipple and brutalized it. 

“Fuck!” Stiles gasped, staggering and catching himself on the edge of the table. There was a clattering behind him as his bottles and implements went all over. “By the Dark Lord.” He shuddered as the tentacle toyed with his nipple.

He had seen enough hentai. He should have expected that.

The other tentacle was exploring. It poked into his navel, making him suck in his stomach. It made wavy patterns up his back, slipped over his shoulder and gently flicked his ear. He turned his head, and it trailed across his cheek to his mouth, which he opened for it.

It danced across his tongue and bounced over his teeth. It tasted like grape, but not real grapes. It was similar to grape candy—that good-bad flavor that didn’t exist in nature. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and sucked on it like it was a lollipop.

Once both of his nipples were used and abused, Stiles was drooling around the limb in his mouth, feeling high and drunk and so focused all in the same moment. He was trembling, putting a lot of effort into staying upright. There was a poisoning needle plant on the table right behind him, so he wasn’t about to collapse.

He turned his hand, pushing the tasty tentacle out with his tongue and coughing a little. “I have to—fuck—I have to move. I need to sit.” With one tentacle tickling under his chin and the other winding a path down to his crotch, he shifted to turn and find a chair.

The lid of the crate creaked as it lifted open much wider, thick, pulsating tentacles spilling out onto the floor and snaking right at him. They wrapped around his thighs, his waist, his chest, his pits, and his wrists, seizing him and lifting him up off the ground. As he gasped and cursed, shocked, the Mimic arranged him right in front of it, arms above his head and his legs thrown open wide.

He was completely exposed, which made it easy for the Mimic to bring out its long, broad tongue and lick him from his clenching hole to the leaking tip of his cock.

Stiles had no words, only incomprehensible sounds.

Suspended and bound, he could only watch and pant as a wriggling tentacle wrapped around his dick and squeezed. His thighs spasmed, and he whined, trying to thrust into the pressure, but he had no leverage. The tentacle pumped him slowly as the mischievous tongue flicked and lapped along his hole.

“Ahn, please—you just—please,” he begged incoherently, curling his toes and tugging at his arms. “Fuck me.”

Smaller tendrils crept along his thighs to his ass, narrowing in on his hole. They were thin, like noodles, and the slipped inside him easily. They gripped his furrowed hole from the inside, pulsing and caressing as they started gently pulling him open.

It was such an intense, unending pressure. Stiles couldn’t fathom it, how they were loosening him, spreading him. All the while, the tentacle on his dick moved steadily up and down, up and down.

When his hole was stretched as far as possible, the tentacle wrapped around his unfurled and drew back. He watched with wide eyes as the tip split open, revealing a oozing mouth. He didn’t have a chance to exclaim his amazement before it swallowed him whole at the very same moment as the crate’s tongue drove inside of him.

He was going to die, and he was happy to go.

A sneaky tentacle wound up his body and caressed his cheek. He laughed, startled, and it turned into a low moan. With his dick being sucked within an inch of its life and his hole being plundered, it was difficult for him to focus on any one thing.

“Get in here,” he breathed out, opening his mouth to the seeking tentacle. It pressed inside without hesitation, and he curled his tongue around its tip, sucking and trapping the wriggling limb inside.

It was so much. It was an assault from all angles, or at least he thought so, but then his puffy, abused nipples were taken again, tugged and nibbled. He couldn’t think. He could only breathe by sucking in air hard through his nose. The tentacle on his dick sucked back to his head, little tendrils dancing in the slit and dipping just barely inside.

That was too much.

Tossing his head back and ripping his mouth free of the tentacle, Stiles arched with a scream. He had never felt—never known anything like this. He shivered and twitched as he was sucked dry, the tongue inside of him doing a rolling motion right against his prostate to milk him for everything he was worth.

The tension in his body released, and he sagged in the air. He was barely aware of being moved, but he was lowered to the floor gently. He spread stayed where he was put, breathing hard as he watched all the tentacles slide across the floor and back into the crate.

“Oh, you’re done now?” Stiles teased the Mimic in a sigh. “Just gonna roll over and go to sleep?”

The tongue, which was the last to return home, blew a small raspberry before it vanished and the crate shut.

Stiles chuckled and rolled onto his back. Yeah, they’d take ten… or thirty.

\---

Two days later, Peter stepped through the ceiling to floor-length mirror next to the front door. With his suitcase in his hand and his long, black coat over his arm, he looked exhausted. But then he saw Stiles. 

“Welcome home, husband,” Stiles purred, standing naked in front of the Mimic as tentacles slithered over his legs and belly. “I really like my new toy. I think we should play with it together.”

A smirk cut across Peter’s face. He dropped his coat and luggage and started toward Stiles, pulling the knot of his tie loose. “Splendid idea, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Mimic's name is Lusty.
> 
> -blows kiss-
> 
> Come say hi to me [on Tumblr](http://thesushiowl.tumblr.com). Sometimes I even say hi back, lols.


End file.
